


Matter of Fact, It's All Dark

by Arisprite



Category: Supernatural
Genre: 5x16, Angst, Canon Character Death...sort of, Castiel POV, Episode Related, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, The Dark Side of the Moon, Whump, gapfiller
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-08
Updated: 2013-08-18
Packaged: 2017-11-13 20:15:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,736
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/507322
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arisprite/pseuds/Arisprite
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The news came blaring through Castiel's mind; the Winchesters were dead. Knowing they were coming back was all well and good, but this was their chance to find out where God was, and Castiel had to tell them about the garden.</p><p><b>EDIT</b>: I discovered that I never finished updating this story here on Archive, so I decided to take the chance to do some slight editing to. Enjoy!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural, nor the characters, though I love them so. Some of the dialogue in this is lifted straight from the episode "Dark Side of the Moon" though the internal thoughts are my interpretation. Title belongs to Pink Floyd.
> 
> A/N: I am always fascinated by what Castiel's doing when he'd offscreen, be it searching for God, or contacting the Winchesters in Heaven with a "hard to maintain" connection. To my knowledge, this hadn't been done before, and then the thing expanded. I also love writing Castiel and Bobby interactions. So, "Dark Side of the Moon" Cas POV.
> 
> Warnings: Canon character death, angel whump, angst, as much swearing as the show.

**_Sam Winchester is dead. Sam Winchester is dead._ **

Castiel had been standing on the corner of a plaza in Italy, when he heard the words. He’d been searching out an old monk on account of the vaguest of rumors, when he was struck with the message through his brain, loud and clear. Clearer than he’d heard in a long time. The angel’s communication was continually getting weaker since he’d been cut off from Heaven, and it was more difficult and painful to tune into them as time went on. This news, however, was the equivalent of a fog horn, blasting through his mind. He grabbed his head, and squeezed his eyes shut, trying shield himself from the sudden attack, and concentrating until the actual words registered. 

Sam was dead. People bustled by him, busy in the city streets. To them he was just a random man, perhaps he had a headache with the way he was holding his head, but nothing to notice. They passed him by, while inside, his head was left echoing with the news. 

Castiel felt a wrenching in his gut, something deep and as painful as his head had been. Grief filled him...

Then,

**_Dean Winchester is dead. Dean Winchester is dead._ **

“Ah!” Castiel could not hold back a gasp, pain flaring through him again, both in his head and heart. The angel’s blaring voices and the news causing him to clench his teeth in anguish. His heart spasmed. “No...”

Jimmy rose a bit, awareness coming to him much easier these days. He impressed vague questioning concern, and Castiel hushed him mindlessly. Dean could not be dead, Sam and Dean were both so...important. It wasn’t possible.

A chilling thought rushed through him, and Castiel staggered backwards to lean against the glassed shop front behind him. If they were dead, and it seemed it must be true, then _where_ were they? Heaven? If there, they were in terrible danger. That was the angel’s, Michael’s backyard. It would be so easy to capture them there. It was small comfort that there was that certainty that the angels would bring them back, for Castiel feared the price. In a world where their lives depended on Zachariah and the others, Dean could be forced to say yes.

And if they were not in Heaven, but Hell...what would the angels do? Mount another siege, probably. They must get them back. But in what state would they return? Dean was changed, Castiel knew from his first time in Hell, what would a second do? Not to mention what Hell would be like for Sam, the promised boy king of the underworld, who’d refused to rule. Hell’s legions would take out their anger and disappointment on the younger brother, and there was nothing either of them could do about it. 

That put them in the same boat, depending on the other angels to bring them back, and fearing the price of such a feat. 

But, no. They must be in Heaven. The angel’s would not allow them to go anywhere else, and soon they would be back, alive again. They had to be alive to say yes, so they’d survive. Castiel took a deep breath. Let it out. 

And then sucked it in again. Dean and Sam were in Heaven. Where he could no longer go, not since Raphael had killed him. He was cut off. But, in Heaven, there was one that could do more for them than anyone. Joshua, the gardener, was said to talk to God, the only one left that anyone had ever heard of. What if the Winchester could get to him, and just ask. When would they ever have this opportunity again?

Castiel shook himself, irritated for even thinking it. It was too dangerous, it wasn’t fair to even ask this of Dean and Sam. They just needed to get out of Heaven as fast as possible. 

But...this could be their only chance.

Castiel straightened up, fixed his lapels, and turned around to the West. He needed to contact them, find their bodies. It would be no easy task to communicate with two specific souls in Heaven, but he thought he could manage it.

Giving no thought to the passersby in the street, he spread his wings and flew. A few people jumped and blinked when the trench coated man vanished, but soon they went about their business.

Castiel appeared in Bobby’s living room, near the nook which held Bobby’s low bed. Bobby was the most likely person to know where Dean and Sam had been before they were killed, and he needed to talk to him. The man was slumbering heavily into his pillow, snoring loud enough to make Castiel glad he had no near neighbors. He moved closer, and stood over the man. 

“Bobby, wake up.” Castiel said loudly. Bobby snorted, and rolled over but didn’t wake fully. “Bobby, you are needed. Wake up!”

Bobby came awake fast, his upper body levering upright, while his lower body didn’t move, the paralyzed limbs remain still while his upper ones reached easily for his concealed weapons. Castiel found himself looking into the barrel of a hand gun, and stepped back hurriedly. 

“Who the hell is there?” Bobby half shouted through the panic fueled rousing, and Castiel put a hand on his shoulder. 

“It’s me.” He said, willing the hunter to calm. 

“Cas?” Bobby blinked at him, and lowered the gun. “What the hell are you doing, waking me up in the middle of the damned night? I nearly shot your damn head off! Jackass...”

Bobby turned away from him, rubbing at his face, waking further, and Castiel removed his hand. 

“I have news,” Castiel said gravely. Bobby looked up at him, eyebrow lowering. 

“You damn well better have news,” He said. Still Castiel hesitated, earning a hard glare from the older man. “Don’t make me hit you, boy. What news?   
I don’t like the look on your face.”

“Sam and Dean are dead.” 

The blood drained from Bobby’s face, faster than Castiel had ever seen that happen, and he had to steady him with his hand on his shoulder again.   
He took a breath, and then another, and then pinned hard eyes on Castiel’s. 

“What happened?” Bobby’s voice was flat, emotionless. 

Castiel shook his head. “I don’t know, just that they are most likely in Heaven, which is the absolute worst place for them to be.”

Bobby narrowed his eyes further, his face still abnormally pale. “Worse than Hell?”

“Perhaps. They will try to make them say yes. And you have no idea of Heaven’s persuasions...” Castiel looked away for a moment, and then back. “I need to know where they were yesterday. When did you last speak with them?”

Bobby breathed in roughly, and cleared his throat. His eyes were still clear. “Uh, I talked to them yesterday.”

“Where, Bobby?” Castiel asked urgently, leaning forwards. “If I can get to them before the other angels do, they might be able to retrieve valuable information from Heaven before they are brought back!”

Bobby stilled immediately. “Wait, what? You wanna run that by me again? Sam and Dean are coming back?”

“Of course they are, they both need to be alive to say yes, the angels would never let them stay dead.” Bobby stared at him for a moment, and then whacked him upside the head. Castiel startled. 

“You knew they were coming back, and you just blurt out...you let me think...ooh, I should tan your hide, boy!” Bobby’s voice vacillated through rough yelling to an angry growl, and emotion made his eyes shine in the semi-darkness. 

“Where are they, Bobby?” Castiel demanded, his urgency causing his heart to race faster. The time was moving past faster than they could see, and every second Dean and Sam spent in Heaven was worse for them. Bobby, however, did not have that sense of urgency. He scooted further upright, and dragged his unresponsive legs over the side of the bed, mumbling insults all the while. Castiel stood, waiting impatiently. Finally, 

“Last I talked to them, they were pulling into Scottsdale, Montana. Dunno which motel--”

Bobby’s words cut off abruptly as he vanished from Sioux Falls, and appeared in Scottsdale. Scoping out which motel currently held two bodies took a moment or two, and then Castiel stood over his friends. 

They were bloody, their shirts torn, chests full of shotgun rounds. Dean’s face was still, white, and angry. Sam’s was the same, with a shocked expression. 

Seeing them unsettled him. His throat thickened slightly, his chest felt tight. He was upset. His finger trembled as he stepped closer and reached to touch Sam’s cheek. It was firm and cold. Castiel frowned at his emotional response. He knew they weren’t dead, not permanently. This was ridiculous, and he was wasting time. He shook himself, and turned his mind to what he came here to do. Reaching into his pocket, he retrieved two small vials. 

The ritual he had in mind required blood from the deceased you wished to contact, as well as blood from the caster, and a healthy amount of angelic power. The last item was a little worrisome, but Castiel could not let himself think what would happen if he didn’t have the power required. 

Coming closer to the beds, he carefully scooped up some of Sam’s blood, and then Dean’s. The liquid was still wet enough to slide sluggishly into the glass containers; the sight made him feel a bit sick. It was strange, because he knew that Sam and Dean weren’t there. All these were were broken bodies. Empty vessels, according to his brethren. And still, it was something sad to look at them now. 

Sighing, he flew back to Bobby’s house. The place was convenient. Bobby was half in his chair, dressed and with his ever present cap perched atop his head. He startled and glared at Castiel when he appeared. 

“Don’t you ever knock?” Bobby said. plopping down into the wheeled chair and turning it to give him a once over. “Where are they?”

“Back at the motel,” Castiel replied, already moving towards the kitchen.

“I thought that’s where you went! Why didn’t you bring ‘em back?” Bobby’s voice was getting agitated...well, more so than usual.

“The ritual doesn't need their bodies, just their blood.” Castiel said without turning, entering the kitchen, and grabbing a metal bowl from the top of the fridge. It was dusty like it hadn’t been used in months. That wouldn't make a difference to his ritual, but he still took a moment to wipe it out with his hand. Bobby wheeling harshly after him.

“You just left them there? And what is this damn ritual you keep talking about?”

Castiel filled up the bowl with clear water from the tap, and then carried it towards the small wooden table, Bobby trailing after him. Setting the bowl to the side, he grabbed a marker that lay discarded on the surface, and began to scrawl over the already marked tabletop. He drew the Enochian lettering, the sigil was one he’d cobbled together, using his understanding of the symbols and some creativity. He prayed it would work. 

“I need to contact them, in Heaven. They have access to information, and it may be our only chance to find out the truth.”

Castiel touched a finger to the water, pure from the tap, and blessed it. Then, feeling Bobby’s eyes on him, he drew out the vials of the Winchester blood and poured them both into the water. The glistening liquid swirled around the water in ribbons, which then mingled and turned the water a light pink. 

Bobby looked up from the macabre mixture. “You can’t just pop up there?” Bobby asked.

“Not anymore,” Castiel said shortly. He drew a knife, and cut into his hand, letting it dribble down to mingle with Sam and Dean’s. Then he recited a few phrases of Enochian, and to his gratification, the liquid began to shimmer and steam. It eddied and bubbled before settling into a mirrored surface. 

“Dean,” Castiel leaned forward, and slowly and clearly repeated the name. “Dean, are you there? Can you hear me?”

“Maybe the line’s busy,” Bobby said, and Castiel snapped him a look.

“Be silent,” Castiel said sharply, “The connection is delicate.”

Bobby may have grumbled about other delicate body parts, but Castiel had turned his attention back to the bowl.

“Dean, Dean, can you hear me?”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, any dialogue you recognize is from the episode **Dark Side of the Moon**

Castiel continued calling at intervals for a long while, feeling the connection waver, and his power drain. There were occasional sounds from the bowl, sounding like they were a long distance away. The first time it happened, it was Dean’s voice, calling out to Sam. Bobby stopped where he’d been rolling towards the fridge to finally fix breakfast, though it was still not even five in the morning, and Castiel leaned forward, nearly upsetting the bowl.

“Dean! Are you there?” But Dean’s voice faded away, and since then they’d only heard snatches of Dean, or Sam or once, music.

“Do you want anything?” Bobby had asked him, regarding said breakfast, but Castiel ignored him.  
Then, when he felt the ritual losing its integrity, and just as he was about to lean back after saying Dean’s name wearily once last time, he heard something clearer than before.

“Cas?”

“Dean!” Bobby exclaimed, turning from the counter. Castiel ignored him, staring at the bowl as if it could show him the other hunter.

“Yeah, it’s me.” Castiel said, sending an extra burst of power to be sure the words got through clear.

“You gotta stop poking around in my dreams. I need some ‘me’ time.” Dean said, sounding crackly.

Castiel leaned forwards further, his nose almost touching the surface. Bobby hovered behind him.

“Listen to me very closely. This isn’t a dream.”

“Then what is it?” Dean’s voice said after a pause.

“Deep down you already know.”

There was a longer pause, and Castiel felt the connection waver for a moment. For a split second, he was afraid he’d lost Dean entirely, but then his voice came through, more broken up then before.

“I’m dead...”

“Condolences,” Castiel replied, knowing that was the term, and Bobby gave him a look he couldn’t interpret.

“Where am I?” Dean asked, and Castiel turned his attention and energy back to the bowl.

“Heaven.”

“Heaven? How did I...to Heaven?”

Dean’s voice wavered, and Castiel sent another pulse of angelic power into the connection. It didn’t help much. He was running out of time.

“Please, listen.” Castiel said, “This spell, this connection...it’s difficult to maintain.” And indeed, the prolonged casting was taking its toll; he could feel his vessel shaking again from exertion, and there was sweat beading on his brow.

“Wait, if I’m in Heaven...then where’s Sam?”

There was the question. Castiel was relatively sure that Sam was in Heaven too, simply so that Dean would be easier to persuade, but it was possible that Sam had been rejected and sent...down.

“What do you see?” Castiel asked.

“What do you mean, what do I see?” Dean’s voice was agitated, even through the shaky connection. Castiel tried to explain quickly.

“Some people see a tunnel, or a river. What do _you_ see?”

“Nothing, my dash. I’m in my car, I’m on a road.”

“Alright, a road. For you, it’s a road.” That made sense, for Dean’s entire life had been a road so far. Only fitting his afterlife was one too. “Follow it,   
Dean. You’ll find Sam. Follow the road.”

The connection was fading fast, and Castiel poured a little bit more power into the ritual to no avail. There was a garbled sound, and then the bloody water blinked back into its natural pinkish surface, the link cutting off like the snapping of a whip. 

The backlash rushed like an electric shock through Castiel’s body, and he stiffened in pain, not able to help crying out, then slumping bonelessly in the wake. He fell forwards, narrowly missing the bowl. He probably blacked out for a moment, but Bobby didn’t have time to finish a shout of surprise, before he groaned and began moving again. 

“What the hell was that, you idjit?” Bobby rolled his chair close, and braced his shoulder. Castiel was ashamed to admit that he leaned into it for a moment.

“The ritual took more power than I expected.” Castiel murmured, trying to straighten up. “I’ll be fine.”

“Yeah, sure, I’ll believe that when you can hold your head up on your own.”

To prove him wrong, Castiel pushed his chair back, away from Bobby’s hand, but when he tried to stand, the floor tilted up, and he had to slam his palms on the table. Castiel could practically hear Bobby rolling his eyes, grumbling again.

“Sit down before you collapse, you moron.” Castiel sank back into the chair. The room was slowing now, and Castiel slowly removed his hands from the surface of the table, and folded them in his lap, hiding the trembles of exhaustion from sight. 

 

“Now, I’m fixing breakfast, and you’re eating some, got it?” Bobby said, wheeling to the fridge, and peering in. “I’ve got eggs or eggs, take your pick.”

“Angel’s don’t need to eat, Bobby.” He said from the kitchen table. Bobby didn’t look over, cutting a small onion. 

“You have to do that ritual again, right? Talk to the boys again?”

“As soon as I’ve gathered enough power, yes.” Castiel said.

“Then you’re eating. You look like you just ran a marathon, boy.”

Too tired to fight it further, Castiel accepted Bobby’s words, sinking back into the chair. His eyes followed Bobby’s hands, stirring the eggs and grating cheese into a bowl. They were homely actions, and somehow soothing in a world set on ending, despite their best efforts. Tragedy and destruction were all around, and people like Bobby Singer cooked breakfast for a friend.

He was jolted out of his thoughts by a plate clunking in front of him. Bobby pulled his wheelchair around to the other side of the table, and set his own plate down. Castiel looked down, and a cheesy omelette lay on his plate. Castiel picked up the fork tentatively. The last time he’d eaten had been that debacle with Famine and his resulting craving for red meat. He’d not truly enjoyed more than the first few burgers, and he’d especially disliked the resulting illness from the overstuffing. He was hesitant to eat again, even though logically he knew that there was no enough on this plate for his body to feel the need to reject. And he had to admit the aroma was pleasing.

He slowly lowered the fork and sliced off a piece of the egg and cheese. He then pierced it with the fork, and then raised it and placed it in his mouth, and then began to chew. The flavor was pleasant, and Castiel’s eyes widened as he swallowed. 

“It’s good, huh?” Bobby asked, smiling to himself. Castiel had to nod. Bobby smirked and began eating his own breakfast with gusto. Castiel ate his more sedately. 

There was silence for a few moments, and then Bobby put down his fork with a hard clink. 

“They are coming back, right?” Bobby said, voice gruff. Castiel swallowed his bite of food, and looked at the other man. 

Bobby was coping well, of course, but Castiel could see that the news of the Winchester’s death had been hard on him. Even Castiel, who was mostly sure that they would come back uninjured and probably mostly angry, had reacted to the news with grief. It had passed as he worked for a way to contact them, and hearing Dean’s voice had helped; but he hadn’t lived his whole life with the concept of dying being the end. Bobby had, and as asking for reassurance was out of character for him. Castiel sought to give him the best hope he could. 

“Yes, Bobby. They are.” _They have to._

And now that he was thinking of it...if they did not, or if Dean or Sam were forced to say yes while they were away in his old home (and the fact that Heaven was now a place of danger to his friends, and himself, as well as being a locale that he was barred from was a whole different thing that he did not feel like probing) Castiel did not know what he would do. 

Of course, true to Bobby’s character, he went and asked the question he didn’t want to answer. “And if not?”

A long moment passed, while Castiel stared down at his food. 

“It does not bear thinking about.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Same deal, dialogue you recognize is from the episode.

When Bobby had cleared his plate, and Castiel had eaten a good portion, the angel’s nerves drove him from the table. He cleared it and started putting the dishes in the sink, and rinsing them in the warm water. It was mindless work, but it made him feel slightly calmer. The sun was coming up, he could see through the window above the sink. It was almost too bright, piercing the branches of the trees, and turning the sky harsh pinks and yellows. This was the first sunrise that lighted Dean and Sam’s dead bodies. 

The food within his stomach lurched a bit, with this thought, and Castiel considered taking back the decision that the meal would cause him no harm. But, no. It wasn’t the food, but the circumstances and his roiling nervousness. Dean and Sam were dead, and in Heaven, a place he could no longer go, and at the mercy of angels. He huffed a small breath. To most people those phrases would have been a good thing. Yes, they were probably going to make it back fine, but the fact remained. They were somewhere where he could not help and protect them, and it was making   
Castiel’s stomach turn. 

“Hey,” Bobby said gruffly, and Castiel turned in time to get a small hand towel flung into his chest. “Stop moping, and get set for the ritual. I’ll finish here.”

“I was not--” Castiel stopped himself from the blatant lie, for he had been allowing himself to get lost in emotional thoughts. HIs emotions in general, new as they were, were in a state of turmoil, so it was never a good thing to allow them free range. 

“That’s right,” Bobby said with far too much satisfaction. “Now, are you gonna get over there and talk to our boys, or are we gonna wash dishes all day? You’ve got your juice back, right?”

Castiel sighed, and snatched the towel off the ground to dry his hands. He felt as well as he was going to, and though he hated to admit it, the food had helped to replenish some of the spent energy. Not that he’d tell Bobby that. 

“I’m fine now.” He said, and moved over towards the table. He needed to redo the elements, and reopen the connection. He would have liked to just keep the line open, in case Dean or Sam tried to contact him, but unfortunately he lacked the power to do so. He simply had to hope that he caught them again. 

The noises of Bobby finishing the tidying up followed him to the table as he sat down, filling him with the same sort of implausible nostalgia that his cooking had done. Bobby’s home was a pleasing place, now that he actually stopped and stayed for a while. He could see why Dean and Sam returned so often. 

Castiel pulled the bowl from the side of the table, moved over to make room for breakfast, and peered into the liquid. The mixed blood of Sam, Dean, and himself sloshed as the bowl moved. It seemed significant, somehow, that the blood must be co-mingled. The brothers shared blood, and he was added into it, somehow a part. Huffing, he shook his head. He was letting his tiredness scramble his thoughts. 

Carefully, he checked the sigil, and recited the words he’d said before, reactivating the spell. Immediately, the water cleared into another mirrored surface, and he felt power began to drain into the link, stronger than before. In another moment, Castiel saw why.

“...phone home radio thing. Cas!” Dean’s voice immediately echoed through the link, and Bobby turned his chair from the suds in the sink. Castiel leaned forward, realizing that not just voices were coming through this time. A blurry picture was forming on the surface, a room and within were two familiar figures. A rush of relief filled his heart. 

“I can see them,” Castiel said to Bobby without taking his eyes from the bowl. He didn’t want to upset the connection, and his power already felt   
shaky. “I can hear you.” He said to Dean, reaching out. 

Castiel heard Bobby wheel over, and lean in close to his elbow. The proximity was slightly distracting, but he didn’t spare the energy to protest. Bobby leaned over the table, and saw the Winchesters, as they moved around, presumably looking for the source of Castiel’s voice. 

“It’s good to see you, boys.” Bobby said, but they did not respond. “Why can’t they hear me?”

Castiel did not look up, his gaze fixed on the shimmering portal. “You are not connected to the link.” He dared not break his focus more than that.

“Hey,” Dean, a small figure in the bowl, as if he were on a small television screen, turned and came closer. Sam was beside him, and they both looked well. They locked eyes, and Castiel thought they must be seeing an image of him too. “Cas, hey, so I found Sam, but something just happened. There was this weird beam of light.”

Castiel felt panic lace through him. “Don’t go into the light!”

Bobby murmured beside him, but did not interrupt. “I thought they were already dead?”

“Okay, thanks Carol Anne.” Dean replied, using one of his incomprehensible references. Castiel ignored it, as Dean continued. “What was it?”

“Not what, who. Zachariah. He’s searching for you.”

Sam raised an eyebrow. “And if he finds us?”

“You can’t say yes to Michael and Lucifer if you’re dead, so Zachariah needs to return you to your bodies.” Castiel said quickly, and Dean and Sam’s shoulders relaxed.

“Great, problem solved!” Sam said, lifting a hand in relief. Dean looked to be in agreement, but Castiel feeling the urgency of the ever weakening connection leaned closer to grip the bowl. 

“No, you don’t understand.” He was tripping over words in an effort to speak faster, make them get it. “You-- you’re behind the wall. This is a rare opportunity.”

Dean stared at him. “For what?”

“You need to find an angel. His name is Joshua.” Bobby looked at him in confusion, but Castiel didn’t spare him the energy for a look. 

“Hey man, no offense, but we are kinda ass-full of angels, okay. _You_ find him.” Dean said, sounding petulant. 

Castiel shook his head. “I can’t.” Anger was flaring in him. Why couldn’t they just trust him for a moment? “I can’t return to Heaven.”  
The boys took in his words, and his unusual tone. Sam shifted. 

“So, what’s so important about Joshua?”

Castiel recognized Sam's attempt to change the subject, and felt a flash of gratitude to him.

"The rumor is he talks to God." Castiel said, expecting them to realize the significance of that. They didn't.

"And? So?" Dean asked, a confused look on his face, and Castiel grit his teeth. 

"You think maybe, just _maybe_ , we should find out what the hell God has been saying?" He snapped. Bobby gave him a look, and Castiel took a deep breath. Dean muttered something to Sam, but Castiel did not ask what.

"Please," This was so important,, couldn't they see? “I just need you to follow the road."

"What road?" Sam asked, and he at least was listening. 

"It's called the Axis Mundi. It's a path that runs through Heaven." Castiel took another breath, feeling his power start to waver. He started talking faster, cursing his loss of control, his anger that took up time. "Different people see it as different things. For you, it's two lane asphalt. The road will lead you to the garden, you'll find Josuha there. And Joshua...can take us to God."

Castiel took a moment to marvel at that thought. He had never before seen his Father, the one he had been raised to love, to obey. He felt the hope swelling in his breast. God had to help them. He just had to. Please let Sam and Dean make it there!

"Go to the garden...please hurry!"

With that the link between Heaven and Castiel snapped with the intensity of a bull whip. Castiel reeled against the backlash, pain flashing through him. It wasn’t centered on any particular part of his body, but just flowed in ever more extreme waves through him, until finally it ebbed. Then he was face down on table, his head nearly in the bloody bowl of water, his hands pinned underneath him. Something was pressing against his shoulders, and after a moment he found it was Bobby’s hands, trying to hold him up. Liquid dripped down his face, from his hairline, and under his nose. The stream tickled, and he wished absently he could free his hands and wipe at it. Then swimming into focus, Castiel heard Bobby’s cursings.

“Damn it all, Cas, wake up. Wake up now, you idjit! I can’t move your sorry ass by myself!”

Castiel moaned and swallowed. His breakfast was sloshing uncomfortably in his stomach. It reminded him of Famine again, and he retched at the sudden nausea that memory caused.

“Ugh...” He made a noise of disgust, and swallowed again against the gorge that rose in his throat. His forehead was pounding against the wood of the table, and he wondered why the bowl wasn’t rattling in time. He blinked, and moaned again. 

“That’s it, kid. Come on, now.” Bobby’s voice turned gentle, and a hand ran through his hair. The touch startled him enough to open his eyes wider, only to see the squiggly lines of the ritual markings on the table top, and a small puddle of smeared blood. Without raising his head (it seemed too heavy to lift) he moved one of his hands out from under him, and touched the red liquid, bemused. 

Going cross eyed from close up staring wasn’t the best thing for his pounding head, and Bobby was trying to get his attention again, so he turned his head slowly, until he was lying sideways, his head still resting on the table. He looked at Bobby Singer, eye level for the first time since he’d officially met him, aside from the quick moment in the barn where he’d simply put him to sleep and not given him a moment’s more thought. 

“B....” Castiel mumbled something that was supposed to be Bobby’s name, but his lips wouldn’t cooperate. More liquid trickled from his nose and sideways down his face, entering his open mouth. He tasted copper and made a face. 

“Bobby was looking at him in exasperation and sympathy. “Come on, Cas. Let’s get you to bed, and you can sleep this off.” Bobby gripped his shoulders, and tried to pull him back into a straighter position. Castiel started to resist, strangely reluctant to leave the bowl that held the Winchester’s and his blood. It was important somehow that the blood mingled. 

“No...” His noise of denial was barely audible and Bobby ignored it.. 

“Come on, son. You did what you could, now over to the couch, come on boy.”

Relentless hands tugged and pulled, and in some feat of strength, Bobby got Castiel to his feet. He wavered, and felt ten times more likely to vomit from this position, but he was standing. 

“...Don’t feel well...” Castiel murmured, taking a step and feeling the ground lurch underneath him. Bobby was waist high was his side, and somehow rolled forwards while holding him up as well. 

“I know, son. Come on, lie down now.” 

The edge of the couch hit the back of his knees, and he let himself fall to the soft surface with a _whumf_. Bobby maneuvered him roughly into a different position than the one he’d fallen in. On his back was better than the awkward side position, and his head pounded less when pressed into the throw pillows. 

Bobby leaned in closer, and wiped at his bloody nose with a paper towel. Castiel was distantly grateful to be rid of the tickling sensation. That done, Bobby rolled backwards, apparently having reached his quota of tenderness for the day.

“Now go to sleep, you idjit.” Bobby said. 

“Angel’s don’ sleep...” Castiel replied, not realized he’d already let his eyes fall closed.


	4. Chapter 4

“This one does, apparently.” Bobby said in a soft voice, and watched as the angel on his couch fell into slumber. Watching Cas’ breathing ease out, and his face relax, his heart started doing those strange things that it did watching Dean or Sam fall asleep, even now. Bobby growled at himself for picking up another stray. 

This particular stray lay on his couch, blood and sweat still smeared across his pale face. That ritual looked like it had been a bitch, and the longer it went on, the more Cas’ face became the color of oatmeal. The guy didn’t even seem to notice how beat he was getting, even as his breath turned into panting, and his fingers trembled. As much as Bobby had wanted to hear hear Dean and Sam’s voices, he was about two seconds away from putting an end to it. And when the end suddenly came, the whiplash about gave him a heart attack, seeing the way Cas crumpled like a stringless marionette, bleeding out of his nose and breathing like a wet racehorse. 

Sighing, Bobby moved to the kitchen again, avoiding the bowl of blood, and wetting an actual towel, instead of that napkin he’d used to wipe at blood under Cas’ nose. Rolling back into the living room, he wiped down the angel’s face and neck, removing the traces of blood sweat. He loosened the tie, and opened the neck of the shirt a bit, but there was no way Bobby could manhandle the coat or jacket off him. It had been hard enough getting the moron over to the couch without him toppling over. 

“Well, good enough,” Bobby muttered. Not one to sit and twiddle his thumbs, he moved around the room, tidying up things, and trying to be quiet. It wasn’t every day a body had an Angel of the Lord zonked on his couch, and Bobby wasn’t about to wake him unless he had some news. Dean and Sam were on their way to the garden, and who knew how long that would take. Heaven had to be a massive place, and they were trying to evade a butt load of pissy angels to find a single hopefully-less-pissy angel, who may or may not have the answers Cas wanted to hear. And that was if time worked the same up there as it did down here. Either way, he was keeping his phone on him, and Cas nearby. 

After a while, Bobby lost himself in some reading he’d been meaning to do, keeping one ear on Cas’ slow breathing. Cas was out good, and his color was slowly improving, which Bobby figured was a good sign. Every so often over the next few hours, he’d put a glass of water to Cas’ lips and make him swallow some, but he was at a loss as to what he could actually do for him. A passed out angel wasn’t something he’d ever encountered before, even in his long list of strange happenings. 

About ten in the morning, Bobby was realizing how early he’d gotten up, rubbing the grit out of his eyes. The reading was not the most interesting thing he could have chosen, and he was thinking about his bed. In his grumbling, he almost missed Cas’ change in breathing. Blinking owlishly, he peered over, and saw that Cas’ face had scrunched up from that peaceful look he’d had to a worried frown. His breath was quickening, and he tossed his head as Bobby watched. He’d only been asleep about four hours, but it seemed that was all he was going to take. 

“Mmff, no...” Castiel mumbled, and Bobby dropped his book on the desk, and rolled closer. 

“Balls,” Bobby said quietly. He wished the guy could get some more sleep. Cas’ breath hitched, and then he shot upright, once again gasping like he’d raced an olympic runner and lost. He was looking wildly around, his pupils blown, and darting here and there, unseeing. 

“Cas!” Bobby called harshly, and Cas started, and met his eyes. They were still cloudy with fear. 

“What--?” Cas gasped, and Bobby came closer, worried now. 

“Hey, hey, calm down,” Bobby said, the way he’d calm a skittish horse. “You’re alright. You were just sleeping. Do you know where you are?” He tried to get Cas to come back to earth, to focus on him. 

Cas slumped down, his rigid muscles relaxing. He closed his eyes and gripped the bridge of his nose. “Of course. Bobby. Forgive me...I became disoriented.” His voice was quiet and ashamed sounding.

“Understandable, considering the way that ritual knocked you on your ass so fast.” Bobby said, still in that calm voice. Castiel opened his eyes, and Bobby was glad to see control and recognition there again. He breathed in a bit shakily, and then sat up straighter. Cas looked better, aside from the remnants of panic, and Bobby felt grateful that at least their angel still bounced back. 

“How long was I...out?” Cas asked. 

“Bout four hours,” Bobby replied, pondering. As an angel, Cas didn’t sleep, and wasn’t used to losing time like that. In fact, how many times has Cas actually _woken up_? Bobby himself had experienced that paralyzing alarm of waking where he did not expect to be, and he’d been doing that whole sleeping thing his whole life. He felt a moment of pity for the guy, and what he was going through, sliding towards them humans day by day.

“Hey, Bobby said, and waited till Cas met his eyes. “You doing okay? With the whole cut off from Heaven thing?” Bobby remembered his bitter statement to Dean about not being able to go back up there. Cas blinked, and Bobby wondered if anyone had ever thought to ask that. Well, if Dean and Sam hadn’t, then there was no one else, and it was pretty clear they had forgotten that particular trial their friend was under. 

“I’m fine.” Cas said, and Bobby was anything but convinced. 

“Uh huh,” Bobby replied, but then wondered if now was the time to push. Not that he was a talking about your feelings kinda guy, but he could listen as well as the next man. However, they were a little up to their eyeballs in problems right now, no use dredging out another one. “Well, if you need to talk, you know where I’ll be.”

Cas stared at him a moment, still leaning forward with his legs extended down the length of the couch, looking for all the world like a small child staring at him in bafflement. Then some slight gratefulness crept in, and his eyes softened. 

“I appreciate it, but right now we have other things to worry about.” Cas said, swinging his legs down to stand. He was moving again like his old self, if a little stiffly. He still looked worn to hell, but at least he’d stopped shaking.   
Bobby nodded, and rolled backwards out of the angel’s personal space. 

“So, what do we do now?”

Cas looked around. “I assume Sam and Dean haven’t called.” It wasn’t a question, but Bobby shook his head anyway. 

“Not a peep. I would have woken you.” 

Cas nodded absently, and pulled his phone from the pocket of his tan coat, checking the face for any missed calls. Nothing there, if his expression was anything to go by. 

“Guess we wait,” Bobby said, rolling back to his desk, and the reading he’d been doing. Cas looked towards him, emotion playing across his face before settling into a hard mask. 

“And either Sam and Dean return to us, or the angels convince them to say yes, and we get Armageddon.”

There was a tense silence following Cas’ remark, and then Bobby snorted harshly, hiding his own emotions. 

“You sure know how to put a downer on the mood.”

After about an hour , Bobby had had enough. His book was engrossing (a new text on Louisiana voodoo practices a friend had found in an attic for him) but not engrossing enough to let him drown out an angel’s fidgeting.

Castiel was bored, and nervous and still weak, that much was clear, and his living room floor was getting the brunt. He seemed to be too tired to do it for long, which meant there was about ten minutes of pacing, ten of sitting on the couch tapping his foot, and ten of wandering the rooms, which would then loop back into pacing. Lather rinse repeat.

When Cas began his fifteenth circuit of the room, Bobby reached his breaking point.

“Dammit, Cas! Would you just grab a book and wait for ‘em to call? Pacing is not gonna make them get to that garden any faster!”

Castiel started at his snap, and sat down fast. Clasping his hands together, he seemed to realize how much anxiety he’d been showing, for he went still as a statue.

“My apologies.” He murmured. Bobby sighed, and rubbed his face. Hadn’t he just been reassuring the boy, and now he goes scaring him off.

“Look,” Bobby said, catching the angel’s eyes. “I’m worried too. Those boys are trouble magnets and neither of us are there to help. I get what you’re feeling. But, we’ve gotta just accept that we’ve done all we can, and now we just have to wait, and not drive each other crazy while we do!” Bobby’s tone was pointed, and Castiel gripped his fingers together as if they would start twitching of their own accord.

Bobby huffed then, and settled down to his reading again, only to jump when a sharp ringing cut through the air. Castiel was shoving his hand into his pocket, and pulling out his phone with hurried motions. Bobby watched with tension running up and down his spine, for there were only three people who had Cas’ number, and he wasn’t calling.

“Dean?” Cas answered in a harsh voice, and a line of stress eased through Castiel’s shoulders. “What happened? Did you talk to Joshua?”

“Did they both make it back okay?” Bobby asked in an undertone, but Castiel ignored him.

“I’ll be there shortly.” Cas replied to something Dean had said, and then vanished.

Bobby blinked. It took a moment to process what had happened, that Cas had just up and left him here. Didn’t he think that maybe Bobby’d want to see those boys too, alive? Bobby slammed his hand down on the table.

“Balls!”


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More dialogue.

Castiel made it to the Winchester’s room in the blink of an eye. He could admit to a strong desire to see them alive again. The sight of their bodies had been more disturbing than he’d anticipated, and the mental image would not leave him. But even more pressing was the urge to find out what Joshua had said, to find out where God was, why no one had seen Him in so long. Finally he would have some actual information!

He appeared in the motel room as Dean was removing the phone from his ear. He and Sam were still in their blood stained clothes; the holes from the buckshot showed healed flesh underneath. The sight was unsettling. Sam still sat on the bed he’d died on, while Dean turned around sharply at his arrival. 

“Cas,” Dean said. “That was fast,”

“Dean, Sam.” Castiel greeted, “I saw no reason to delay my arrival. It is good to see you alive.”

“Thanks, Cas.” Sam murmured, getting to his feet, and rubbing his chest uneasily, though there should be no residual pain.

Dean grumbled, and shifted his feet. “Feels like a bad trip...”

Castiel agreed that it was a bad trip, but thought that perhaps Dean was referencing something else. Either way, he decided to ignore it, in favor of asking the question that was burning on his mind. 

“Did you find Joshua?” He asked, unable to keep all the eagerness from his tone. He was so close to an actual answer. Joshua _had_ to know where God was.

Dean glanced at Sam, something uncomfortable in his eyes. Castiel felt something clench inside him. Then, Dean’s face stiffening into that emotion hiding mask, and he turned to Castiel. 

“Come on, man. Let us change first before the interrogation, these clothes are trash.” He plucked at his ruined shirt, but Castiel narrowed his eyes. That flash of _something_ in Dean’s expression was gnawing at his gut. 

“Dean,” Castiel said,ready to protest, but Dean was already deflating, and sadness became plain across his face. 

“Cas,” Dean started, sighing. “We did see Joshua, and he gave us a message from God.” He trailed off. Sam was looking at him in sympathy. Castiel was about ready to step forward and shake the both of them. 

“And?”

“And, he said to...God said to back off. Said he knows what’s going on down here, and he doesn’t care. We’re on our own.”

As Dean’s words registered in his mind, one by one, it felt as if the air was getting sucked out of the room. Castiel didn’t move, let the words sink in, as if being completely still would make not them true. They couldn’t be true. It was impossible, his Father was loving Father, that’s what he’d always been told, and there had to be a mistake, they couldn’t be true!

Castiel’s exhaustion from before returned tenfold, and he turned from the brothers, thinking vaguely of leaving, but the thought of opening his wings made him only lean heavily forward until he was resting on the room divider. It was literally the only thing holding his upright, and for a while he just concentrated on that, on the firmness of the wood, the feel of the support. His hands found his pockets, and he left them there.

Distantly, he heard Dean call to him, and then he and Sam began moving around, presumably to change and pack. But his mind was taken up, and rolled over with thoughts and feelings he didn’t have the ability to process. 

His Father. His _father_...

And all the while he’d been looking, searching, hoping, praying...pleading for help, for some guidence, and there was nothing. A silent and uncaring figure, nothing more...

No! 

It couldn’t be true! How could it be true. He’d been brought back for a reason, hadn’t he?

Hadn’t he?

There had to be a mistake, some misunderstanding...something!

“Maybe...” Castiel started, listening to the sounds of the Winchester’s moving about the room. “Maybe, Joshua was lying.” Castiel murmured, almost without realising he was speaking aloud. The roughness of his throat startled him, made him realize how long it had been since Dean had first told him. 

Sam and Dean’s noises slowed, and there was the sound of a zipper being closed methodically. Then Sam spoke. 

“I don’t think he was, Cas. I’m sorry.” Sam sighed heavily, and in that moment, Castiel knew he truly meant it. And if Sam, the boy with the demon blood and inexplicably a massive amount of faith, knew within his soul that they were their own, then...

Dean said nothing, and Castiel did not turn to look. He couldn’t see it right now. Sam’s words had broken his last hope, the last shard left to him. He was done. 

His vessel’s throat tightened, jaw clenching back emotions tangled in a dark knot, pulsing with an anger that rose like and encroaching flood.  
Without a word to the boys, he moved away from the support wall, his anger sustaining him through his tiredness. His eyes raised to the ceiling to the...what? Sky, space, Heaven, _nowhere at all_? Towards a father he’d loved, had faith in, even when all else had fallen to the wayside, and in the end, who’d betrayed him, left him. Oh, God, why have you left me?

“You son of a bitch. I _believed_ in..” And Castiel let his words trail off, not even sure what he had believed in. All his existence, he’d been told lies, why should this one, the greatest one be any different? How could he think that everything else his angel superiors told him was false, while they were truthful about the fact that he had a loving father. They lied about everything, why should he be surprised?

The anger fell away, and the weariness settled back on his shoulders. He dropped his eyes, his shoulders, his heart. 

HIs fingers in his pocket suddenly registered something hard jabbing into his nail bed. It was the amulet. Almost forgotten, since this whole mess had started, it say in his pocket innocently, cool under his fingertips. It was a reminder that his whole mission, his reason for coming back, for existing since he’d rebelled, was gone. 

Castiel suddenly couldn’t bear to have the necklace anywhere near him anymore. He wanted it gone, like his faith was gone. He turned slowly, wearily, to see Dean and Sam standing there across the room, watching him. He could not meet their eyes. 

Castiel dug out the necklace, and held it out. “I don’t need this anymore.” He said, and tossed it towards Dean without a second thought. It left his fingers, and Castiel felt only relief, glad the thing wasn’t there to remind him of his failure by it’s very existence. 

Dean caught the amulet he’d thrown, and let it dangle from his fingers. Castiel stared to the side of the room, looking at the morbid bloodstains on the bed. He couldn’t see his own loss of hope reflected in Dean and Sam’s eyes. 

“It’s worthless.”

He had to go. Where, he didn’t know, but he couldn’t stay here.

“Cas, wait--” 

Sam’s words twisted away, and Castiel landed in a city strip. The passersby did not notice a man suddenly standing in their midst, and they certainly did not see the way Castiel wanted to weep, to scream and cry at the sky (though there was nothing up there to hear him, he knew that now). He didn’t know what to do. Where to go. There was no point to anything. 

For there was no way they could beat the devil, not with Dean’s plan, and they wouldn’t, couldn’t say Yes. It would be a waiting game that no one would win. The world was lost, and his father wouldn't lift a finger to heap, nor would he even _listen_!

Anger rushed through him again, and he sank a fist into a wooden wall, the beams splintering around his knuckles, blood welling up. Pain distracted him for a moment, and he savored feeling something other than despair, before his release faded. Pain meant he was closer and closer to being human. He could still heal those scratches, but for how much longer? And now to find out that he was in this state for nothing. He’d rebelled for the hope of a better world, and all that was left was despair. 

Breathing quicker, he looked around. Castiel was starting to earn the gaze of the people around him, worried or nervous about this madman who was punching walls and looked near to crying. Stop, he just wanted it all to stop.

Castiel stumbled forward, and there, in front of him like a sign, was a store advertising alcohol. He stared for a moment. Then, he took a step forward. This was what Dean, and Sam and Bobby turned to in times of despair. He knew that well, and never understood it. But, he was at rock bottom, and if it was good enough for them to forget, it was good enough for him.


End file.
